


Surprise!

by faithlessone



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 03:45:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9698129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithlessone/pseuds/faithlessone
Summary: Not even the state of Shepard's closet is going to stop Miranda when she's on a mission.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oOAchilliaOo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oOAchilliaOo/gifts).



> A little fluffy story partly inspired by my real life Shepard. For Galentine's Day.

Shepard awoke to the sound of someone rooting through her closet. Not an exactly normal occurrence, but by no means the weirdest sound she’d ever been woken by.

The fact that it was Miranda rooting through it, and not, as she’d originally assumed, Kaidan, made her a little more confused.

“Uh, hi?”

Miranda emerged from the wardrobe with a frown.

“Were you aware that almost every piece of clothing you own has an N7 logo on it? Or is _literally_ Alliance requisitioned?”

Shepard, having just woken and therefore not having had any coffee, could only nod. She had a feeling that this was going to swiftly turn into a conversation that she literally couldn’t deal with having without at least two cups.

“And you only have _a_ dress. As in, a singular dress. Just one.”

Maybe three cups.

Unwilling to continue even listening to the conversation without coffee being at least imminent, she rolled out of bed, into some N7-logoed clothes (because what the hell was wrong with the majority of her clothes having an N7 logo?) and went downstairs.

When there had been enough coffee to function with Miri in one of her moods, she forced herself back upstairs. She really wished she hadn’t.

Miranda had emptied the entire contents of her closet onto the bed, and was in the end stages of a process that seemed to involve dividing the clothes by purpose. The largest pile by far was predominantly black, with tell-tale flashes of white and red. The middle pile looked like uniform. And then there was the Dress, which was lying with a sparkly top that Shepard wasn’t actually sure she recognised and might possibly have been left somewhere in the apartment by one of their frequent houseguests.

She _definitely_ hadn’t had enough coffee to deal with that concept.

“Is this it?” Miranda asked.

Shepard curled her hands tighter round her second very large mug of coffee and wished she’d had the forethought to bring the rest of the pot. She nodded again.

“What do you wear when you go out with Kaidan?”

She pointed at the N7 pile, and Miranda gave her a look that seemed, to Shepard’s still-not-quite-entirely-functional brain to be a mixture of disbelief and pity.

“What about when he takes you somewhere really nice?”

She pointed at the dress. Miranda gave her another look.

“Get dressed. We’re going shopping.”

It took at least another three mouthfuls of coffee for Shepard to process that pair of statements. It was her first actual day off in weeks. She’d been looking forward to a rare lie-in, a few hours of vids, and then maybe managing to convince Kaidan to play hooky from his afternoon meetings so they could go and beat their high scores at the Armax. They’d both been so busy the last few months, they’d barely got a minute to themselves.

Shopping wasn’t _ever_ on her list of desirable activities. Unless it was for weapons. Or mods. Or armour. Or model ships. Definitely not clothes.

Miranda didn’t seem like she was going to take no for an answer though, throwing a pair of jeans and one of the black t-shirts with the smaller N7 logo at her.

“Why?” she managed to say.

“I have an assignment, and it involves you dressing up.”

Ahh.

“What kind of assignment?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I don’t generally deal well with surprises.”

“You’ll like this one, I promise.”

*

Shepard wasn’t sure what Miranda had been expecting when she decided to take her out clothes shopping, but she guessed that Miranda hadn’t been expecting quite so much overt opposition to basically everything she suggested.

“This would go a lot easier if you just told me what the assignment was,” she said in the third shop, having refused to try on anything in the first and all but storming out of the second. “There aren’t a _lot_ of places where I couldn’t wear either my jeans or that dress Kasumi bought me.”

“What dress did Kasumi buy you?” Miranda asked, looking up from a rack of suspiciously patterned outfits.

“My dress.” She hadn’t thought that was a difficult concept. As Miranda had so clearly pointed out earlier, she did only have one.

“Wait, Kasumi bought you that dress?”

Shepard nodded.

“Ugh, well that explains some things.”

Shepard wisely decided not to ask what it explained. Instead, she noticed how cleanly Miranda had almost managed to change the subject.

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” Miranda repeated, patiently. She held up something green that seemed to be made entirely of ruffles. “How about this one?”

“No.”

*

“Just try it on.”

“It’s _pink_.”

“It’s not pink. It’s raspberry.”

“It’s _pink_.”

“It will go wonderfully with your skin tone.”

“It’s still _pink._ ”

“Shepard, please?”

“No.”

“Fine.”

*

“It’s got flowers on it.”

“I am aware of that, Shepard.”

“There is no way I’m wearing something with flowers on it.”

“There aren’t _that_ many flowers.”

“Miranda, look at me. Do I look like the sort of person who wears _any_ flowers?”

“Shepard, look at me. It’s just an assignment.”

“I’m not doing any assignment that involves wearing something with flowers on it.”

“Fine.”

*

“No.”

“What’s wrong with this one? It’s blue, there are no flowers or frills or any of the other million things you don’t approve of, you can wear underwear with it…”

“It’s too tight.”

“It’s not, but I’ll get you a size up if you insist.”

“No, I mean I couldn’t fit more than one gun and a knife under it. Maybe two knives. No grenades.”

“It’s not _that_ kind of assignment, Shepard. Do you really need that many weapons?”

“… I don’t understand the question. Have you met me?”

“Fine.”

*

Eventually, after many shops, and many dresses, and many arguments, Miranda agreed that it was lunchtime.

When the waiter finally brought them their meals, Shepard looked at her almost comically oversized triple burger, with the extra bacon and cheese and onions and the gooey sauce that somehow made the whole thing heavenly, and almost dove into it. After the morning they’d had, she _deserved_ this burger.

Then she noticed the bowl of green stuff in front of Miranda.

“What is _that_?”

Miranda raised an eyebrow. “Have you been living on rations so long you’ve forgotten what fresh food looks like, Shepard?”

“ _This_ is fresh food.” Shepard gestured with her burger. “That looks like something I’d feed my hamster.”

“Your hamster clearly has better taste than you.”

“How do you live on leaves?”

Miranda speared a piece of lettuce on her fork and ate it before responding. “My salad has everything your body needs. Grilled chicken, cheese, bread, dressing, and lots of lovely vegetables. That’s the green stuff, by the way, Shepard. You probably don’t recognise it without a bun around it.”

“Hey,” she interrupted. “None of that green stuff ever gets near my burger.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

Shepard narrowed her eyes and took a huge bite of her burger. Probably a little too huge. It was worth it though for the look of amused disgust that Miranda shot her before she turned her attention back to her salad.

“Do you have any idea how many calories are in that burger?” she mused, offhand.

Shepard took another bite. “Probably fewer than I’ve burned off getting dragged around half the Citadel by you.”

Miranda smiled. “And we still haven’t found you a dress. So I’ll be dragging you round the rest of it when you’ve finished that.”

Great.

*

The afternoon went substantially better than the morning had. Partly because Shepard had given up justifying why she didn’t want to try on whatever Miranda picked out, and had started trying to pick out things on her own.

(Mostly because Miranda had given up trying to put her in anything that wasn’t either black, red or blue, wasn’t entirely devoid of pattern or embellishment except a little glitter, and wasn’t tight enough to be unable to conceal an entire arsenal of weaponry).

Eventually, just as Shepard was starting to think that maybe it wouldn’t have been _such_ a big loss if she’d let the Reapers destroy all sufficiently advanced organic life in the galaxy, she accidentally found a dress.

She held it up for Miranda’s approval.

Miranda tilted her head one way and then the other, regarding it thoughtfully just long enough for Shepard to be _convinced_ that it wouldn’t have been such a big loss if she’d let the Reapers destroy all sufficiently advanced organic life in the galaxy, then she smiled.

“I like it. Go try it on.”

Shepard did as she was told.

The dress was short enough that she could run in it, loose and draped enough that she could conceal at least her pistol, an SMG, multiple knives and probably even a grenade or three, and a pleasing shade of N7 red.

She pushed back the curtain of the changing room.

Miranda smiled. “You’ll do.”

Shepard gave her a slightly angry, slightly incredulous look.

Miranda laughed. “Just kidding. You’re perfect, Shepard. Almost as perfect as me.”

Shepard stuck her tongue out. “Are you going to tell me what the assignment is now?”

Miranda shook her head, fiddling with her omni-tool. “We’ve got two more places to go, and then you can find out.”

“Two more? I thought we were done. What the hell, Lawson?”

She held up her hands in surrender. “Back to the apartment, Shepard. I’ve organised a little treat, and then I’ll take you to the rendezvous and you’ll get all the details.”

*

Back at the apartment, Miranda pushed her off and told her to get showered and dressed, and an asari with a terrifyingly huge box of kit turned up to do her hair and makeup.

“Are you _sure_ this is necessary?” Shepard asked, as the asari did something to her hair that caused it to become simultaneously somehow both sleek and wavy.

“When was the last time I got a say in how you looked?” Miranda replied, a devious smile on her face.

“Probably about an hour before I woke up on the Lazarus station.”

“Exactly. So shut up and just enjoy being pampered for once.”

She scowled, and started to mentally plot how she was going to get Miranda back for this unprecedented insubordination.

Then Miranda brought her a cocktail, and she relented.

When Shepard was finally allowed to look in the mirror, she was honestly surprised. Never really one for spa days or makeovers or whatever super girly shit civilians got up to in their spare time, she’d been expecting to barely recognise the person looking back at her.

Instead, she looked like herself. Just a slightly more polished, shinier version of herself. The version of herself she imagined she’d look like naturally if she got enough sleep for once and ate the sort of boring hamster food that Miranda seemed to enjoy.

“Oh,” she said out loud, when she realised that the two people behind her were actually waiting for a reaction.

“Is that a good ‘oh’ or a bad ‘oh’?” Miranda asked.

Shepard shrugged. “Not sure. Remind me where we’re going?”

Miranda laughed. “Yeah, you’re not getting me that easy. Finish your cocktail and then we’ll get going. We’re meeting the contacts in thirty.”

*

They headed back into the Presidium, which wasn’t exactly a surprise. Shepard figured that they had to be going somewhere fancy, with her all dressed up like this. The fact that Miranda wasn’t dressed up, however, made her a bit concerned.

“Is this a solo op?” she asked.

Miranda smiled. “Two person team. Just not me. You’ll understand when we get there.”

The way the former operative’s eyes were gleaming only made Shepard more concerned. She rechecked the status of all her weapons, just to be sure.

Almost exactly to the minute, they pulled up. In front of a theatre. A theatre showing a particular limited run of a show that she knew for a fact had been sold out since almost the very hour that the tickets went on sale. She wasn’t sure even the Council could get a seat at this short notice.

“Infiltration op?” she asked, even more confused than she had been before. “You sure?”

Miranda nodded. “Trust me. You’re the only candidate for this kind of assignment.”

Shepard gave her a side-eye. “I’m going to need the details now, Lawson.”

“Two minutes. Just need the other agent to get here. Better to brief you together. They should be here by now…” She trailed off, checking her omni-tool with a frown.

“Who’s the other agent?” Shepard asked. “You can at least tell me that. Someone I know?”

Miranda said nothing, continuing to poke at her omni-tool.

“Shepard?”

The oh-so-familiar voice came from behind her, and she turned around, deeply confused, to see Kaidan. Dressed to the nines in an honest-to-god tuxedo. He looked as stunned to see her as she was.

Then James walked up behind him, with that particular mix of nerves and mischief that meant he was participating in a plot, and Shepard figured out exactly what was going on.

“Ah, so you’re my infiltration op?”

“Infiltration op?” Kaidan asked.

“James didn’t tell you about this mystery assignment he and Miranda made up?”

James put his hands up immediately. “Hey, Lola, this was all Miranda’s idea. I just had to get the Major here at the right time.”

Miranda muttered something behind her that sounded awfully like it being a necessity to improve his withstanding-interrogation training, and chose to ignore it.

“He told me you’d planned it,” Kaidan said. His eyes kept drifting, and Shepard finally figured out that his shock was more down to the new outfit than the surprise date.

Which was now very, very obvious.

“You did all this just to get me out on a _date_ with my boyfriend?” she asked Miranda, a little in shock.

Miranda shrugged delicately. “Not entirely. I did have a spa day planned, but you didn’t have anything to wear tonight and the shopping took a little longer than I was expecting.”

“Shopping? Shepard?” Kaidan interrupted, laughing.

“It took us six hours to find that dress,” Miranda added.

“Only six?”

“Hey! If you’d been clear about the mission parameters from the off, I wouldn’t have taken so long,” Shepard said, trying not to sound petulant.

“Well worth it,” Kaidan told her, comfortingly. “You look incredible.”

“Not so bad yourself, Alenko.”

Miranda cleared her throat. “If you delay much longer, you’re going to miss the show.”

Kaidan dragged his eyes from Shepard to the theatre, as if seeing it for the first time. “Wow… uh, seriously? No way you’ve got tickets for that.”

Miranda’s brow furrowed in hurt. “You really think I’d get you all dressed up and all the way here if I didn’t? What kind of friend do you think I am?”

“Sorry.”

She produced two tickets with a flourish. “I was intending to go myself, but hey. You two deserve it more.”

Shepard took the tickets with a disbelieving smile. “Seriously? You’re giving up… Miri, you’re sure?”

Miranda looked very solemn and gracious for a few seconds, and then her face cracked into a grin. “Shepard, don’t be ridiculous. I’ve got tickets for closing night for me and James. These ones I… obtained.”

“Obtained… how?” Kaidan asked, and then quickly added. “No, don’t tell me.”

James nodded. “That’s probably for the best, L2.”

Shepard couldn’t linger another second longer. She let go of Kaidan’s hand long enough to throw her arms around Miranda’s neck. “Thank you. You’re the best!”

“You’re welcome, for god’s sake. Tell me how grateful you are after. Go!”

She'd been desperate to get tickets for this special run of her favourite play, but apparently even being a galactic hero wasn't enough to get tickets the old-fashioned way. She was amazed that Miranda had managed to get seats for two separate performances. Then again, she'd learnt a while back that there wasn't much the operative couldn't get done. Kaidan was almost as excited as she was.

They got settled in their seats just as those famous first chords played.

“How does a bastard orphan, son of a whore and a Scotsman…”


End file.
